Page 11

Yes. The baron was dead.

And yes, that implied Brendan was now Lord Filminster, though such matters required confirmation by the Committee for Privileges.

The runner, street-born and plainly self-conscious about the particulars, was fumbling to speak with due propriety.

“That is correct,” Halmesbury replied. His deep voice carried reassurance, steady and composed. Brendan had yet to fully collect his wits since discovering his father’s body, and was grateful that the duke had stepped forward to take charge.

“And where was Mr. Rid—his lordship—the night before?”

The duke cleared his throat into one large gloved hand. A pause followed. Richard intervened smoothly.

“His lordship was staying with a friend overnight. A lady friend.”

“Will she be able to confirm his whereabouts?”

Both Halmesbury and Saunton glanced back toward Brendan, still sunk in the armchair, bleary and numb. He shook his head.

“That will not be possible.”

“Did any of the household staff witness him arriving this morning?”

All three men turned to look at Brendan. He nodded, then sighed deeply, his voice dull and heavy. “I did not pay attention to who let me in at the front door. I was in a rush. I simply ran inside without noting it, but it must have been the butler or one of the footmen.”

Briggs nodded, a lock of lank hair falling away from his brow to reveal a faint scar above it. His face was narrow, dominated by a thick mustache that reminded Brendan of the stable master back in Somerset.

“I shall question the household staff and identify someone to confirm your arrival, milord.”

“Will that be sufficient to clear his lordship?” Halmesbury’s query made Brendan stiffen. The same thought had haunted him since discovering the baron’s body.

Briggs stroked his mustache, expression pensive. “It might be. But I would advise persuading the lady in question to confirm his whereabouts. ’Tis not my opinion that’ll count in the end, but the coroner’s.”

Brendan grimaced. His arrangement with Lady Slight was not based upon goodwill or discretion. Her allure lay in the pleasures of the bedroom, not her reputation for benevolence. The idea that Harriet would involve herself for his benefit seemed laughable.

As it was, both Halmesbury and Richard had shown visible discomfort when Brendan had reluctantly admitted to spending the night with a woman, though he had withheld her name. He could not fault them, but their thinly veiled superiority, products of their settled domestic bliss, was more irritating now than ever before.

“Is there any suspicion likely to fall on his lordship?” Richard asked, prompting Brendan to lean forward in his chair.

Briggs tugged on his mustache, gaze dropping to his notebook. He hesitated, then finally replied, “The coroner—Arnold Grimes—is new to the post, but he strikes me as a man keen to make his mark. It would be in your lordship’s interest to resolve all doubt swiftly. An alibi would strengthen your position.”

A heavy silence followed. The only sound was the ticking of the library clock, its surface darkened by age and the tarnish of decades. Its stern, weighty presence lent a near-medieval air to the room.

At last, Richard exhaled. “Thank you for your candor, Briggs.”

“The baron has been dead for hours, that much is certain. And it is plain to me that his lordship was out, based on his attire and appearance. If it were my investigation, I would be asking who might have called on the baron last evening.”

“But it is not your investigation?” Brendan asked quietly. He had never before dealt with the authorities and found himself uncertain as to the process.

Briggs met his gaze, sympathy flickering across his weathered features. He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. The final say belongs to the coroner.”

Brendan rubbed at his temples, then slumped once more into the embrace of the worn library chair.

The countess’s footman released Lily’s gloved hand after helping her from the carriage, stepping back with practiced politeness as she followed her cousin to the painted front door. A small brass plaque declared the residence to be Ridley House.

It was her first time visiting the townhouse, having never before had occasion to meet the unmarried gentleman in his own home. As a debutante, Lily did not go out much without her mother’s chaperonage. She attended social functions with Mama, and on occasion, she accompanied Sophia either to her home or to Hatchards.

A bachelor’s residence, even a grand family townhouse, was strictly off-limits. A thrill skittered through her like lightning, sparked by this unexpected deviation from custom. Despite the somber circumstances, it was the most excitement she had known since Sophia had married the year before, following a nefarious kidnapping attempt in the Abbotts’ very home.

Lily craned her neck to peer up at the façade of the great house as she came to a halt behind Sophia. It was large, but the drawn drapes prevented her from discerning anything more. The only outward sign that something untoward had occurred within was the air of stillness that hung about the place. Soon, the door opened, and Lily swept in behind her cousin, gazing around the dimly lit hall with open curiosity.